(OK. When you have three kids you have to give everyone the same amount of press time. Here is a classic story from my family archives about son#1. If you’re a long time reader – long time in Blog Years, that is – you’ll remember this from last year. I’ve been travelling all weekend for my brother-in-law’s memorial service and frankly, I have no faith that I’ll be able to produce a post worth reading today. So, please. Enjoy one of my favorites!)

“MOMMY! #2son said the S word!” shouted my #1son from upstairs.

My heart skipped a beat. I racked my brain, trying to remember when I might have slipped. Was it when I spilled coffee all over my blouse getting into the car yesterday morning? Or when I rolled through that stop sign and THEN saw the police car in my rear view mirror?

“MOMMY! #2son said the S word! He needs to go in time out!” #1 son is now standing in front of me, demanding justice.

“What exactly did he say?” I said, sternly. “And remember. You’re tattling – so it better be worth it.”

I breathed a sigh of relief and said, “You’re right. That’s not nice and we don’t say shut up. Just ignore him.”

I led #1son back upstairs to play so I could finish dinner.

“Mom, there are two S words, right?”

Oh no. Heart pounding, I scowled. That darn husband of mine. Letting loose like a sailor in front of the boys. Leaving me to deal with potty mouth. Next I’ll be getting phone calls from parents. I could just see it, unwrapping the bar of soap, placing it between his teeth – my husband, not the boys.

“Riiiiggghhhtt,” I said very slowly.

“Yep. There’s shut up and stupid. And I don’t say those words. Those are bad words!” #1son says, proudly.

My heart starts beating again at a comfortable pace. I’m able to exhale with ease.

This post brought back memories…my brother and I weren’t allowed to tell each other to “shut up” when we were little. I think my mom learned the “real” S-word from us! I was about 10 the first time I ever heard her say it…

The ‘f’ word…that could be frick, frack, fruck, freak, fricken, fracken, frucken…these are variations my children have tried getting away with.
This was funny! I know I shouldn’t laugh, but at least I’m not the only mother out there who cringes when I hear it coming.